


Homebound

by ShiDreamin



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Golden Scheme Claude Zine, Mainly Supports between Claude and GD, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers for Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/pseuds/ShiDreamin
Summary: "Yeah? You flatter me,” Claude grins. “What’s wrong with touching me? Don’t like this?” He winks, patting at his chest. Leonie groans, returning to the steaming pot.“You’re not comfortable with it.” Ah. Claude pauses, briefly thankful for her turned back. He hadn’t figured, what with her attitude and adamant mentality regarding, well, Jeralt, that she would have time for much else. Yet tracing the lazy form of her back, familiarity is what grips her hands as she plates, warmth what props her to cooks large meals. She’s at home here—baring herself to a stranger.“I’m surprised you noticed.” He means it to sound less truthful than it does. She turns to him, their eyes locking, the emptied pot a satisfying clang on the table.“You’re my friend.”
Relationships: Golden Deer Students & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67
Collections: Zine Pieces





	Homebound

Garreg Mach’s invitation is hardly a surprise, especially so following the endless barrage of presents, well-wishes and letters Claude’s been handed ever since he had mysteriously appeared at the Leichester Alliance’s roundtable. He finds the people, well, snobby. Unbearable. Noble, to their very core, taxing the poor as if they need any more money for reasons other than trying to show each other up. Claude finds them hilarious, if only because it’s easier to laugh at life than to recognize it as truth.

Schooling, at least, cannot be worse than sitting at a roundtable listening to grown men squabble.

Claude is wrong.

Lorenz is the very mirror of his father: snooty, obsessive, condescending. Every moment with Lorenz is a flashback to the sudden etiquette lessons forced upon Claude, foreign instructors scolding him to speak louder, be clearer, be _better_ , as though Fodlan mannerisms were anything but an obscure, unknown language. Claude spent the better half of a year simply learning that there was apparently a modesty standard he had to adhere to, ridiculous as it is.

“It is a shame,” Lorenz had said once, “that the commoners can be so quick to violence. Yet, nevertheless, that is what I am here to fix. It is a noble’s obligation, after all, to protect the commoners!” Claude had not missed the _I_ nor the obligation, simply clicking his tongue.

“Right,” he had murmured, repeating himself louder when Lorenz had frowned. “Absolutely right. What would commoners do without us?” Lorenz’s pleased smile met Claude’s pointed one. Fine.

Speak easy, curtsy pretty. If Lorenz really is the mirror image of his father, then that’ll be enough.

Leonie is an entirely different manner. She’s a commoner, first of all. Second, she _makes_ Lorenz polish weapons, which is both a hilarious sight and a well-deserved one. Third, she’s actually quite skilled in the kitchen, wielding knives and pots and seasonings with practiced ease. He wouldn’t have guessed with her training regime and evident idealization of Jeralt: she didn’t seem one for the kitchen.

“If you can’t cook, how are you going to take care of yourself in the wild?” Leonie responds, the crackling of fire breaking her words. Claude nods, tossing his knife to either hand, eying her perfectly cut onions. She grabs the bowl and tosses them into the sizzling pan, before thrusting it at him. “Peppers!”

“What—me?”

“What’s your knife for? Yes, you!” Sheesh, sheesh, fine. Claude surrenders, raising his hands in the air a moment before grabbing at the washed and hollowed peppers. Red, green, yellow under his hand. Slice, then another, quarters cut to eighths and then sixteenths, dumped into a bowl and begun again. Leonie smacks the sizzling pot onto the stove, and Claude can see her dig her hands into marinated meat before tossing it in.

“Sheesh. Not very ladylike,” he teases. Leonie scrapes her spatula into the pot before thrusting her hand back, dumping the sliced peppers into the mix before tossing it back to him.

“As if you care,” she responds, though the smirk gracing her face tints warm, “c’mon. I need the potatoes.” Further conversation is drowned out by the crackling and sizzle of water hitting the hot metal, steam wafting with it awfully delicious smells. Claude gets pushed to washing duty as she plates their lunch. Leonie is truly a whirlwind in the kitchen, tossing pots, doling out oiled bread on plates, pouring the sautéed dish on top. Frankly, it looks as good as it smells. Claude swallows, unable to pull his eyes away until the loud shatter of porcelain forces them both to jerk at the broken remains of a soapy dish.

“Don’t move!” Leonie snaps, dropping her pot onto the stove and turning the corner only to return with a broom. Claude freezes, letting her sweep up the shards. Her hand pats at his arms for a moment before sharply pulling away, muttering to herself.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Claude crosses his arms behind his head, a soft jitter to his words. “Guess I’m not suited to kitchen duty, huh?”

“Better than any other noble,” Leonie corrects. Her eyes soften, finally sweeping the remaining pieces into the trash, coming back up against Claude. “As long as you’re safe. I won’t touch you, so check yourself for any remaining shards.”

“Yeah? You flatter me,” Claude grins. “What’s wrong with touching me? Don’t like this?” He winks, patting at his chest. Leonie groans, returning to the steaming pot.

“You’re not comfortable with it.” Ah. Claude pauses, briefly thankful for her turned back. He hadn’t figured, what with her attitude and adamant mentality regarding, well, Jeralt, that she would have time for much else. Yet tracing the lazy form of her back, familiarity is what grips her hands as she plates, warmth what props her to cooks large meals. She’s at home here—baring herself to a stranger.

“I’m surprised you noticed.” He means it to sound less truthful than it does. She turns to him, their eyes locking, the emptied pot a satisfying clang on the table.

“You’re my friend.” Easy, simple. Then she’s pushing him out of the way and rinsing, pouring soap and water against the burning metal. “Now go feed our other friends. Raphael’s probably starving.” Claude follows her commands, making sure to pester her for being the perfect chef as he goes, unable to stop the slow spreading of a grin on his face. It’s only for the delicious meal. Really.

Leonie turns out to be correct: Raphael isn’t just hungry; he’s always starving—something of a bottomless pit. Still, Claude’s learned his lessons, and he’s sure to keep a watchful eye on Raphael. There’s no telling the secrets he’s holding, the perceptions he’s making, the _schemes_ Raphael dreams of.

Well. That’s what Claude would like to think.

“She’s so smart, and talented! Man, I don’t know how I would have survived without a little sister like her!” It’s hard to pen Raphael’s schemes down when, well, he hasn’t actually done anything besides eat, train, and talk anyone’s ears off about how much he loves his sister. When he’s not doing that, he might as well be talking about how much he loves his friends: Claude, somehow, included.

“I’m sure she feels the same,” Claude offers. The peas under his fork squish and roll apart to his salad, largely untouched. Raphael laughs in response, swallowing another mouthful of meat pie.

“Yeah! I’m so lucky to have her. She’s what inspires me to do my best, everyday!” Sweet. That’s what Raphael is: sweet, kind, loyal. He’s got a heart bigger than Fodlan itself, in no part due to his size.

“She’s lucky to have you, too. Few people are lucky enough to have a great older brother.” Raphael beams at that, practically sparkling with joy. He’s basically condensed sunshine: bright and cheery and the slightest bit slow.

“You really think so?” Raphael pauses, chewing on the remains of the pie, crumbs flying onto the plate. A few land in Claude’s salad, the perfect excuse. Raphael swallows, humming a moment, before turning back to Claude with a wide smile. “Hey! I could be your big bro too!”

“Wait, what?” Claude drops his fork back against his salad, not-so-subtly pushing it to the end of his tray. Raphael grabs it right from under his hands, stacking it along the many other emptied ones he’s had this lunch. In a matter of seconds, Claude’s got pheasant and curried peas, and, euch, more salad. More like sad-lad, based on the wilted lettuce. Raphael pays it no mind, both hands waving at Claude.

“I could be your big bro! We’d be great together! And we could invite Lysithea! And Ignatz! The whole house!” Claude stares at Raphael, certain his mouth is the slightest agape. He’s—well, he’s pretty certain Hilda _has_ an older brother already, for one, but he’s also pretty certain that Raphael has no idea what he’s promising. Being an older sibling is a lot of work, if his constant wondering about his little sister is any indication. Raphael just doesn’t have the time to care for an entire class of people.

“What do you think? I could call you little bro! Oh, but that’d make things confusing, huh?” Raphael groans, shaking his head. Confusing is just the start of it, honestly. Yet Raphael’s energy is infectious, and Claude finds himself sharing a shake of his head, tapping his fork against his bowl. If Raphael doesn’t watch himself, he’s going to end up overworking taking care of everyone else. Honestly. He thinks he understands Raphael’s little sister a bit now, if this is what she has to worry about. Huh.

“Don’t worry about it,” Claude finds his lips crooking upward, “Call me Claude, big bro.” It’s just a joke, and Raphael’s a nice guy. That’s the only reason Claude has for letting Raphael swing his arm around, regaling stories of siblinghood. He’s not getting attached—it’s for future obligations. Really.

It must be Raphael’s influence on Claude that leads to him seeking out Lysithea on more than one occasion—usually, to tell her to get some sleep. She’s not only the youngest member of his house, but one of the youngest students overall, and despite her talents he’s fairly certain she needs sleep. Claude’s willing to bet on it, if the constant drooping of her eyes between pages is any indication.

“Look, I’m treating you as a _princess_ , okay? Not a child! I’ll even carry you to bed, my lady.” Lysithea’s frown is almost as audible as Claude’s cringe at his words. She huffs, pointedly returning to burying her nose in the lengthy textbook she calls “light reading.” He’ll believe it when she stops using the spine of it to cover her yawns.

“Go away,” it’d hurt more if she wasn’t on the edge of another yawn. Lysithea glares over the top of her stack, pointedly flicking her eyes between Claude and the library exit. “I don’t know about you, but _I_ have work to do. I’m not,” her eyes twitch as another yawn forces her jaw open, “even tired.” Right.

“Oh, well, okay,” Claude hums, crossing his arms behind his head. “You’re clearly not tired at all, so I’ll just leave you alone. With the vengeful ghosts. Okay, bye!” A shrieking “What ghost?!” is the final sound in the library before he charges outside the door, unable to stifle the giggles bursting upward. Forget Raphael—Lysithea slamming her books back and rushing to her feet is 100% Claude. He pauses at the library exit, raising an eyebrow at her as her feet stalk mysteriously quickly over.

“Going to bed?” If looks could kill, Claude would be a pile of ash on the floor. Forget that; Lysithea herself could probably kill him with ease. Still, she does little more than glare for a second more before huffing, crossing her arms before relenting and dropping one hand to pinch at his sleeve.

“Let’s go.” Her smile betrays her. Claude grins, swinging his arms, their feet tapping in pace.

“Right this way, princess!” The teasing is worth it, even if it means coming to class charred. Raphael gives him a proper pat on the back for his hard work, though it’d be Hilda who makes a big deal of it, pouting prettily at Claude as she wrangles him into her room with perfected puppy eyes. He’s entirely certain how he’s been dragged into modeling her jewelry, yet he can’t find himself saying no.

“This looks _so_ good on you! I knew you’d be the perfect model!” Hilda coos, swishing Claude’s face to and fro. He manages a wink and grin, despite the growing discomfort of her nails pinching his skin. It’s petty vengeance for when he left her during cleaning duty. The dangling green pendants of her earrings clack with the movements; her eyes soften, fingers relenting as she plays with her art.

“And you’re the perfect designer! Look at us, huh?” Claude praises. Hilda giggles, playing with his hair, a variety of gems and beads in her hands to comb and braid into his locks.

“Aww, thanks.” Hilda’s returning wink is, goddess, just as swoon-worthy as his own. They share a look before breaking into grins, giddiness bubbling upward. It’s hard not to, when they’re dressed to the nines in prototypes, and he’s got her makeup on his nose. Hilda’s giggles die down first, and she sighs, brushing his bangs. “Honestly. I wish I was born like you. You’re so hardworking, you know?”

“I’m sure,” Claude raises an eyebrow, pinching her hair, “you don’t mean that.”

“I do! Well, maybe. I don’t want to fail my classes!” Hilda groans, ducking into his shoulder. “Let me be jealous.” Her voice dips, soft. “Besides, you always seem to know everything. I’ve seen your lights on at midnight, always working! Don’t you ever want to rely on someone else?” Claude swallows, acutely aware of her resting against his throat, her hand on his chest. She’s testing him. She must be.

“Yeah?” Anything else would be much too hopeful, naïve. Hilda groans, flopping to the side, peering at him upward from underneath her bangs. Classic Hilda. It still makes his heart quicken.

“Obviously. Don’t I rely on you always?” Her voice is uncomfortably shrill, and the exaggerated wink doesn’t help. Claude snorts; trust Hilda to twist the conversation the moment it gets serious. Well, he can’t say too much on the matter. “Speaking of, Claude…”

“Name,” he sighs, “your price.” Hilda grins, giddy. At least the earrings are nice.

Marianne is, to the surprise of absolutely no one, by the horses. She’s speaking to someone, or rather, some _thing_. A speckled sparrow sits on the crook of her finger, chirping between her words. It’s a lovely sight, one Claude has no intention of intruding upon. Unfortunately, Marianne notices him first.

“Claude! I, um, I didn’t realize you were on duty.” The sparrow startles and chirps twice, loud, before flapping its wings and ascending past drifting clouds. Marianne sighs, eyes tracking its shadow, before dropping back to Claude. Her fingers are worrying at the edges of her sleeves. “Ah. Sorry.”

“I’m not, Hilda is. Was.” That earns him the slightest quirk of a smile. Marianne strokes a hand along her beloved horse’s mane, fingers carding through the hairs. “I just wanted to talk, that’s all.”

“Talk?” Trust Marianne to freeze at the prospect of conversation.

“Yep, talk.” Marianne swallows, releasing her horse to pat at her shoulders, her sleeves, her skirt. Claude waits, her eyes darting between him and the door, before she heaves a resigned sigh.

“About a story of a little boy, in a faraway land…” The words come out stilted, heavy despite the grin affixed to his jaw. It gets easier as Marianne’s hands drop, her shoulders relaxing to the tune of Claude’s voice. Before he knows it, the words come to a close, and they’re standing still, side by side.

“I’m just, uh, he’s like you, Marianne. But just because the world sees him a certain way doesn’t mean it’s all he is, all he’ll ever _be_.” Marianne’s eyes are soft when they survey back to his face, quiet, before glancing back towards the white clouds drifting above them.

“It’s not his fault though,” gentle, sweet, and for a moment Claude can see the maternal kindness Hilda’s always raving about, shining out from hollow eyes, “we’re different. We’re just,” she raises a palm outwards, beckoning, “people. We’re not made to let go of the past so easily.”

“That’s,” Claude hesitates, biting on his tongue. The words bounce in his mouth.

“I know,” and gods, it’s unfair, how kind Marianne is despite the exhaustion in her smile, “it’s okay, Claude. Ignatz told me about how we are free to live our own paths.” Her hand comes to close around his wrist, tugging his palms upward to meet her own. For this moment, shadowed under the horse yard’s gate, she’s never looked more at home. “Thank you, though. I’m. Happy, that you’re our leader.”

Ignatz’s room is a familiar emptiness. Claude finds him in a studio upstairs, clad in a faded apron and grasping a platter of paints. Claude intents to say—something, a compliment or an apology, perhaps, on Marianne’s behalf; he’s cut short by Ignatz’s sunny grin the moment he’s spotted.

“Claude! I haven’t finished her yet,” Ignatz’s smile wavers a moment, gaze flickering between Claude and his work. Claude hums, stepping to the left and letting his eyes wander. Even though it’s a community studio, this entire wall is all Ignatz—fruits, landscapes, stills and portraits of his family, his friends, the Golden Deer. There’s people Claude’s never seen before, always a dazzling woman with gorgeous locks and vivid eyes, Fodlan garb. The goddess, in all her forms. “Do you… still want to see?”

“Me? Come on, Iggy, of course! How sexy is she now?” Claude winks. Ignatz flushes, yelping.

“That’s not—she’s not, Claude!” Claude laughs as Ignatz protests, a scandalized swipe at his arm. Still, true to his words, Ignatz shifts to reveal his work. And she’s. She. Well.

She looks like Claude.

“Do you like it?” His skin, even a shade darker, several shades darker around her eyes, her hands. A glamorous smile, cheeky, and glittering green eyes. It’s her hair, cascading curls and a single neat braid tied with a ribbon, crinkles of gold leaf intertwined, that force his eyes still. “Claude? Are you okay?”

“Oh! Yep, I’m fine. Totally fine!” Awful. Claude used to be a great liar, yet standing here next to a prettier version of him makes the falsities heavy on his tongue. “Just. Ignatz. Isn’t this, you know, an affront to the church? How are they going to feel if you make their holy goddess… a brute?”

“She’s not a brute!” Ignatz protests, waving his hand out, paints dangerously wobbling. “She’s the goddess—holy, pure, and good. And,” his shoulders sag, eyes flickering to Claude, “so are you. Even if there are people who don’t know it yet. Claude.” Ignatz swivels the canvas, brush dabbing at it. “The goddess doesn’t look like any one person because she isn’t. She’s a force that brings us joy. And that’s what you do.” A smile tugs at Ignatz’s lips, brush dabbing. “Now let me paint you a picture.”

“Hey now.” The laugh that bursts forth is entirely unplanned, though Claude finds that his smile refuses to fade against Ignatz’s own. “Don’t go ordering me around like that. I’m the leader of the golden deer, after all.”

Ignatz paints him like that, grinning against the sun, arms behind his head, with a brighter rainbow of colors than he’s ever used before.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh!! So happy to finally post this fic! I was super lucky to be a contributor for ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* [ Golden Scheme ](https://twitter.com/ClaudeFanzine)*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ A Claude zine! We made over $6000 for charity AND we have leftover sales going up on my birthday (7/11 ♥)! So if you want to pick up a super cool zine loaded with fics and art and some cool merch... ୨♡୧
> 
> This was THE first fic that got me spiraling into Claude haha... if it weren't for this zine I probably wouldn't be as obsessed as I am but you know what!!! I'm loving this wild ride X,D  
> I've got two other Claude focused zine fics I'm working on so,,, I'll make posts about them on twitter when sales start!
> 
> If you enjoyed reading my fics, want to yell about found families, or support me, please check out my twitter [ @Shidreamin ](https://twitter.com/shidreamin/)! I’m more active on there, and you’ll be able to see my zine previews before I post them here, as well as some WIP in the future! I've also recently set up a [ Curious Cat ](https://curiouscat.me/shidreamin/) and [ Ko-Fi ](https://ko-fi.com/shidreamin/), if you'd prefer messaging me anonymously. ♥ ♥ ♥


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